


Blossom

by pushingthesenses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Highschool AU, M/M, bigbro!gabriel, hipster!cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-20 13:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushingthesenses/pseuds/pushingthesenses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel was strange. Strange music, strange clothes, strange friends. In general, he was the embodiment of organised chaos. But somehow, don't ask me how, I wound up tangled in him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. September 7th 1996

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so, another generic Destiel HS AU. I originally wrote this story with original m/f characters, but when I re-read it, I realised it was pretty much a Destiel story with different names/genders. So, I figured I'd put it where it belongs. I also really love writing Cas as someone who's quirky and funny. I like to think, with Gabe as an older brother, he would have turned out somewhat like this as a high school kid.

**September 7th 1996**

I remember this day well. Very well, in fact.

It was my first day of senior year at my new school – Lawrence High School, Kansas. It was different than my previous schools in New York, and was far from what I expected. I didn't like it. I didn't like it one bit. Back in Long Island, I was captain of the football team, and dated cheerleaders and cheerleaders only. Lawrence High School didn't have a football team. At least, not on a varsity level, which meant the football scholarship I had been counting on went straight out the window. No, this school had a baseball team. I couldn't hit a ball with a bat to save my life, I just didn't have that kind of hand-eye co-ordination. I had very little of that in general, and thanked God every day of my life that all I ever really had to do in football was run around with a ball and tackle people. The cheerleaders were weird too. Really weird.  
I had gone from being top of the food chain, to the very bottom. I didn't know a soul, nor did I understand how this school worked. I remember being lost. Very lost. I was so used to being the centre of attention – the guy all the girls, coaches and college scouts had their eye on. But in this new school, this stupid, stupid school, I could kiss all of that goodbye.  
 _So much for having that legendary senior party I've been planning for the past four years._

First period English class was the worst class I have endured to this day. I was late, because the idiot of a school secretary gave me the wrong schedule, and I had ended up in a junior physics class instead of senior English. When I eventually found the class, I instantly prayed to be back in that physics class. For a fraction of a second, I even contemplated repeating my junior year.

“New boy? Dean Winchester?”  
“Uh. Yeah.”  
“Papers.”  
I raised an eyebrow. The teacher was tall, old, and looked as though he hated teaching as much as his students hated having to listen to listen to him. His suit was creased and his grey hair messy, as though he had ran his hands through it in frustration a couple of times already.  
"What?"

There were a couple of chuckle’s from the back row. It felt awfully strange, not being able to shoot them ‘the look’. The same ‘look’ that hushed even the loudest of jocks and the bravest of nerds. But that wasn't an option anymore. New kids don’t have that kind of authority.  
“Your papers, let me see them.”

He didn't wait for me to hand them over, and instead, grabbed them out of my hands rather roughly.  
I remember thinking about my dad.

“Go sit beside Castiel.”  
“Who?”  
“Castiel. Castiel Novak.”  
In any other situation, I would have bit my tongue, but four hours of sleep the night before had left me dysfunctional and, for want of a better word, extremely cranky.  
“Dude, I've been a student here for less than an hour, I don’t know who the hell Castiel Novak even is.”  
The murmuring class fell silent, and the teacher, who I later discovered was called Mr Elroy, stared at me with such cold eyes that I almost apologized. But I didn't.  
Winchester’s don’t apologize. Not when they’re right.  
“I’m Castiel,” a deep voice sounded from the back of the room. “Sorry, Dean, I should have said so. It’s my bad, not yours.” He kept his eyes on Mr Elroy the entire time he spoke, not once glancing at me. Not that I cared, he looked like someone my dorky little brother would of hung out with anyway.

“Thanks,” I muttered as I sat down beside him. “You saved my ass from a detention on the first day.”  
He shrugged, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.  
“Whatever, no one deserves a fight with Mr Elroy on their first day. He’s just cranky ‘cuz he’s been here thirty years and still hasn't got the raise he asked for during his third year.”

That’s when I looked at him. Really looked at him.  
He was wearing faded jeans, and those doc marten boots that the goths in Long Island used to wear every day, even in the summer heat. His knitted sweater was a weird, but somehow pretty, olive colour and it was a little too big for him. He really was...Something. Something...Well, for the want of a less pathetic word - beautiful. And well, fuck, because I’d never even thought about a _girl_ as beautiful before, much less a _guy_. Sure, the girls I had dated in the past were hot, but all the cheerleaders looked the same. I'd had fleeting phases of being attracted to some of the guys on my team, but that's all they were - phases. Phases I never admitted to anyone, and only barely admitted to myself. It wasn't until I really looked at Castiel, that I saw he was a different kind of attractive, a different kind of beautiful. I probably would have told him, too, if I was feeling my usual self (hey, new state, new slate, I was no ladies man in Lawrence). But I wasn't, so I didn't. I just chuckled instead, and told him he was funny.  
“I’m not trying to be funny, I’m just saying. Where are you from?”  
“Long Island.”  
“In New York?”  
“Yup, home sweet home.”  
He raised her eyebrows, impressed, and said no more.  
He had pretty eyes. Very pretty blue eyes.  
I spent the next ten minutes wondering, had this dude of gone to my old high school, would I have even given him the time of day?

“Winchester!”  
I jumped, looking up at Mr Elroy.  
“Repeat what I just said!”  
It took every ounce of strength in me to refrain from groaning and telling the old bastard where to go. Instead, I decided to just do what I would have done back home.  
Be a dick.  
“I would…Only whatever you were saying didn't really interest me so I tuned out.”  
“I noticed.”  
“That’s nice of you.”  
“You've just earned yourself a trip to the principal’s office on your first day, Winchester. Enjoy it.”  
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Castiel repressing a chuckle. Just as the bell rang, he stood up clapped me on the shoulder, leaning down to whisper in my ear.  
“The work of an amateur. A suspension on the first day would have made you a legend."


	2. September 8th 1996

**September 8th 1996**

“You take Sam to school, you get to class, you pick him up from school and then you look after him, you hear me?”

It was 6AM and my father was standing over my bed, dishing out orders. I stared up at him, bleary-eyed, thinking about what I’d make for breakfast.  
 _Pancakes sound awesome right about now..._

“Uh-huh.”  
“Dean!”  
“Yes, dad, I hear you! When have I ever gotten it wrong, huh?”  
“Don’t back-talk me, young man.”  
I was quick to shut up.  
“I’ll be back sometime next week, I’ll call when I can. You know the drill, no parties, no girls, no leaving the house after dark and no leaving Sam alone.”  
“Yes, sir.”  
He nodded, and turned to leave.  
“I love you, son.”  
“I love you too, dad.”

My father traveled a lot with work, although I never really knew what it was he was doing. Nor did I care. As long as he was safe and could put a roof over our heads, I had nothing to complain about. I suppose that’s probably why we moved to Kansas to begin with, although I never really knew how, or why, we ended up in the mid-west. I knew better than to question my father’s choices.

I did as I was told.  
I dropped my thirteen year old brother off at junior high in dad's old Impala, ruffling his shaggy hair as he leapt from the front seat, knocking his books out of his hands in the process.  
“Careful, alright?”  
He nodded, inspecting his books for any injuries.  
“Anyone pushes you around – anyone at all, you tell me and I’ll take care of ‘em, you hear?”  
“I hear,” he adjusted his rucksack and looked up at me. He looked scared. Really scared. “Hey, Dean?”  
“What?”  
“Everything will be okay, right? I’m not gonna get hurt again, am I?”  
“New slate, buddy. Just remember what I told you last time.”

*

 

As I approached my locker, I noticed Castiel digging books out of his. I hadn't noticed that it was right beside mine.  
“Hey, Castiel.”  
“Cas,” he said, not looking up. “You can call me Cas.”  
“Alright,” I smirked. _“Cas.”_  
“Dean.”  
I chuckled, taking the few books I needed out of my locker.  
“So, Cas,” I spoke with a playful tone. “What does one do around here for lunch?”  
“Well, _one_ would usually go to the cafeteria or sit by the bleachers. You’d think you’d of figured that out yesterday.”  
“I spent most of yesterday in the principal’s office. Missed lunch.”  
He smiled. “I still think you could have done better.”  
“Oh, you haven’t seen half of it. You should have seen me in Spanish class back home. I should have won awards.”  
“What classes do we have together?”  
“I dunno. English, and a couple of others, I think.”  
“I’ll make you a deal,” He said, closing his locker. He looked...Outstanding that day. Even more so than the day before. Not that I'd have admitted that to myself at the time. He still had those goth shoes on, but somehow, they looked good on him. They didn't look scary, like they did on everyone else. “You show me the real stuff, and you can eat lunch with us.”  
“Deal.”  
“Gotta shake on it, man.” He held out his hand. He had a ring on his right ring finger.   
_“Deal,”_ I repeated, shaking his hand. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

 

*

A Winchester never goes back on his word. So I sat beside Cas in Spanish class, and made enough of a scene to earn myself an after-school detention for Friday.  
“Impressive,” he said, “Impressive.”  
“So, lunch?”  
“Lunch. Hope you don’t mind, but my friends aren't exactly ex-jock friendly.”  
“How did you know I used to be a jock?”

He winked, and gestured to a group of people sitting around a table at the back of the cafeteria. I could already tell that these were the kind of people I would have completely ignored back home. One guy had long ginger hair, fierce acne and dressed a little like Kurt Cobain. I didn't know much about Kurt Cobain at the time, just that he died a couple of years beforehand and dressed like a hobo. There was a girl who had green streaks through her blonde hair. There was one guy who looked pretty normal, if you didn't count the mullet and redness around his eyes from smoking pot.

“Guys, this is Dean. He’s our newest recruit.”  
 _Recruit? What is this, the freak army?_  
“Dean,” He pushed me towards the group and gestured to each individual. “This is Brad, Jo, Ash and Chuck.”

I glanced at Chuck, who I hadn't previously noticed. He had his head buried in a huge book, not even looking up when his name was mentioned. He simply grunted and waved a hand dismissively in my direction.  
I smiled and gave a general nod. I half expected them to stare me down and spit on me or something, but that wasn't the case. Despite their somewhat off-putting appearances, they were all very friendly and talkative. They asked a lot of questions about Long Island and the city, and what I wanted to do in college. I said I wasn't sure. I didn't tell them that I had planned on playing football. I’m not sure why I didn't tell them. It was probably the fear of rejection.

“So, the big question,” Brad, the Kurt Cobain wannabe, sighed. “Music and the arts.”  
I raised my eyebrows.  
 _The arts?_  
“Who’s your favourite band?” Jo, the girl with the blonde hair and green streaks, asked through a mouthful of pizza.  
“Uh, Led Zeppelin, actually,” I shrugged. I didn't listen to a lot of music, mostly because the type of music I liked wasn't much appreciated by my past peers. The music I did listen to, however, could be found in my dad’s vinyl collection. “Been listening to them since I was a kid.”  
“Not bad, not bad.”  
“You really think I’d introduce you guys to someone with shit taste?” Cas interjected as he leafed through a book.

Ash grunted in agreement, and the group continued their questions and conversation. I couldn't help but notice how intelligent and cultured they all were. It made me feel like a ditz, and their group made my previous peers seem like four year old's in a sandbox. Maybe they weren't freaks, or dorks, or weirdo’s. Maybe they were simply open minded. Maybe they just had minds and opinions of their own. Maybe they weren't afraid to just _be_.


	3. September 13th 1996

**September 13th 1996**

 

Had you of strolled into my crowded homeroom in Long Island on September 13th 1995, and told me that a year on, I would be sitting on the carpeted floor of a pot-head’s basement in Kansas, listening to Billie Holiday and smoking cigarettes, I would have laughed in your face. Laughed _right_ in it.

Yet there I was, on Brad's basement floor, one of Castiel's DIY cigarettes between my fingers.  
I’d always promised my father that I wouldn't smoke after my mother died of smoke inhalation when our house caught fire well over a decade ago. But somehow, for the first time in my life, I didn't care. I didn't care about my father’s expectations, and I didn't care about the fact I’d dropped Sam off at his new friend’s house to spend the night. I didn't care about how angry my dad would be if he were to find out about that – although I took all necessary precautions and told Sam he’d never live to see the light of day if he told dad. He didn't dare challenge that threat.

I just didn't care. I was surrounded by good music and, to my surprise, good people. Good, intelligent people, and I knew they could teach me a thing or two about life. At the time, I was more than a little hesitant to let these people show me the ways of their world, but that's not to say I wasn't drawn in. I was, admittedly, slightly – or very – uncultured and a little dim, no thanks to my previous rank on the popularity scale. You just couldn't have that prestige and still be smart. It simply never worked that way. As far as I know, that still is, and probably always will be the case.

“Must say, Dean,” Brad was sitting on the floor, his head tipped back against the seat of the couch, eyes closed as he took another drag from his cigarette. “Wouldn't of taken you for one of us.”  
“That’s cause he ain't!” Cas called from the kitchen. He materialized into view through the smoke and the dark, his electric eyes lighting up the hazy room. “He’s a jock!”  
“I am not!” I had, and still have, the worst habit of speaking without really thinking.  
“You were!”  
“You…” Jo began, lifting the needle from the record player, introducing an unwanted silence. “Were a jock?”  
“Dude, why didn't you tell us?” Brad sounded offended, and for a moment, I really didn't know what to do. 

It’s that fear. That fear of rejection that seems to be integrated in the majority of teenagers – and humans in general. The same fear that sits on a throne in the back of your mind and whispers in your ear, guiding your every move through the difficult journey of adolescence. But why? Why did I, Dean Winchester, former captain of the football team, care about being accepted by these…well, freaks? It didn't make sense. I didn't understand. To be honest, I didn't understand much of anything about myself during my teenage years. But that confusion only increased when I moved to Kansas.  
 _Go figure. The city boy can't handle the country dwellers._  
So, in the nine seconds I had spent internally panicking, while all eyes were focused on my visibly nervous features, I decided to do something I _rarely_ did when caught in a sticky situation.  
I told the truth.

“I dunno,” I shrugged. “I mean, I really don’t know. I think, maybe, I was just scared of rejection. Which is funny, really, ‘cuz as an ex-jock, you’d think it’d be the last of my worries…” I trailed off as I felt Castiel's hand on my shoulder. “Whatever, it doesn't matter, you know what you know.” I never was all that comfortable with talking about my feelings, fears, or, well, anything that had to do with my psyche.  
 _Just like dad._

I’m not sure what I expected, but I definitely did not expect their hysterical laughter. To this day, I don’t know whether it was because some of them were high as kites, or if it was because they felt the same way I did. I’m sure, had you of walked into their homeroom on September 13th 1995 and told them that a year on, they would be entertaining an ex-jock on a Friday night with Billie Holiday and cigarettes in Brad’s basement, they probably would also have laughed right in your face.

These people…These strange, intriguing, artistic people, had already influenced my thinking. I couldn't help but picture myself at the end of the school year. Would I be another walking, talking Kurt Cobain dedication?  
 _No sir, no thank you._

“Dude, you’re hilarious,” Ash chuckled. “Fuckin’ hilarious.”  
“You fit right in, Dean,” Cas smirked. “Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours.”

 

*

 

The night was cold. Very cold. And it was late. Very, very late.

"You got a ride home, jockie?" Cas appeared behind me as I sat on the front steps, leaning back on my elbows and observing the street before me. It was homely. It was sweet. It was very cold, but I ignored that. The stars were brighter in Lawrence, much brighter than Long Island.  
 _Which one is the brightest?_

"Uh-huh. Car's over there."  
"That's your car? That piece of crap?"  
"Wait, did you just call me 'jockie'?"  
"That's one crappy looking car, dude."  
"Hey! Don't call me 'jockie', alright?" I flicked my seventh cigarette of the night into the darkness. "And it ain't a piece of crap, it's an Impala and it's damn indestructible."  
"Sure thing," He got to his feet. "Jockie."  
"Fuck off."  
 _Wait, since when do I say 'ain't'?_  
"Al's coffee place, tomorrow, four o'clock." He winked, turning to go back indoors.  
"Wait, we're not all gonna get high in a coffee shop, are we?"  
"No," He said, so innocently that I almost believed him. "Just me and you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like playing around with Gabriel's influence as a big brother on Cas. Mostly his new habit of teasing Dean.


	4. September 14th 1996

**September 14th 1996**

I was ridiculously nervous all day, and was especially irritable after I was rudely awoken at 9AM by Sam banging down the front door, eager to get inside to steal a further two hours sleep in his own bed. He never was one for sleeping anywhere but his own bed.

“Why’re you so jittery, Dean?”  
“I’m not jittery, eat your cereal.”  
“You’re jittery.”  
“Sam,” My ‘dad’ voice never failed. “Drop it.”  
“It’s a girl, isn’t it?”

At least, it had never failed before. When I didn’t answer – mostly due to my own internal debate as to whether or not my unusual and, quite frankly, unwanted feelings for Castiel could be put under the same label as ‘girl or guy problems’ – Sam only began to dig deeper.

“It is! It’s a girl!”  
 _“Sam!”_  
“Dean's got a girlfriend, Dean's got a girlfriend!”  
“I do _not_ have a girlfriend, alright, now quit it.”  
“Then where were you last night?”  
“I told you, I was working on a project with a friend.”  
“Was it a girl?”  
“No,” I sighed. “He’s a dude, and if he ever found out you asked if he was a girl, he’d kill you.”  
“What’s his name, then?”  
“Brad.”  
To this day, I couldn't tell you why I didn't just tell Sam that his name was Castiel. I guess it might have had something to do with the fact that my feelings for Castiel could have been considered a 'guy problem'.  
“What does he look like?”  
“Like an idiot, actually, but we’ll keep that between you and me. If you want proof, he lives 3 blocks over, go and ask him where I was last night.”

Satisfied with my answer, Sam trotted into the living room to watch cartoons, leaving me with my Spanish assignment. Which, due to my denied apprehension and sweating palms, was impossible to even look at. For a brief moment, I almost felt like vomiting all over it. I’d promised myself that I’d pull my own weight throughout senior year and get the work done.  
Of course, within my first couple of weeks, that promise was well and truly shattered. Nothing new there.

*

When four o’clock finally rolled around, I was at breaking point, and my jitters had only been increasing steadily since I began chain smoking and drinking black coffee in a pathetic attempt to calm myself down. This wasn't Dean Winchester.  
 _Dean Winchester doesn't get nervous talking to hot cheerleaders. Dean Winchester can get a date without a hitch. Dean Winchester sure as shit does not get nervous about having coffee with a friend. Who's a dude. He **doesn't**_.

“You look like you’re gonna vomit,” Cas appeared in the seat next to me, his own cup in hand. “Don’t get it on my shoes, please, I still haven’t gotten rid of Chuck's vomit stains from last year’s homecoming.”  
“I’m fine,” I lied, glancing at his cup. The liquid was green, and I scrunched up my nose at the sight. “What kind of coffee is that?”  
“It’s not coffee, it’s herbal tea, dumbass.”  
 _Smooth._

“So, what’s up? Why am I here?”  
He stared at me, the kind of stare that sees right through you.  
“You don’t have to pretend, you know.”  
“You lost me.” I shrugged, without the faintest idea of what he meant. He could have been talking about anything – Castiel was like that. He seen things, took note of things that most people wouldn’t notice. He could see right through me, and everyone else around him. He knew what lay behind the masks, the costumes teenagers and adults alike wore to fit in to society. He could see it all, right down to the bone.

“This is what I mean, Dean, you pretend.”  
“Cas, c'mon, what the hell are you talking about?” I paused, evaluating the situation. “And speak in English, I don’t understand your philosophical talk ninety percent of the time.”  
He sighed, resting his cup of fancy herbal tea on the table.  
“I see you, Dean, I see _you_ ,”  
I waited.  
“I see how you feel about everyone and everything. I notice these things, and you don’t have to hide them. Not from me.”  
And that was when he kissed me.


	5. October 2nd 1996

**October 2nd 1996**

Cue my big gay freak-out. 

There’s something about Cas. When he kissed me, I couldn’t help but kiss back. It was like he was holding on to something inside me, something that kept my feet on the ground and my head - and I'll never admit to saying this again - very much in the clouds.  
The kiss was soft, but not hesitant. He didn’t seem one bit worried about rejection, or being pushed away. It was strong but tender and as sweet as they come. And it was most definitely the best kiss of my life. Way better than the head cheerleader back home, or her sister, or her best friend. It was so damn good that I almost whined like a needy thirteen year old girl when he pulled away. 

I hadn’t noticed that I’d been holding his left arm as his hand held my face. I hadn’t noticed anything outside that kiss – Johnny Dillinger’s ghost could have raided the diner and I wouldn’t have noticed a thing. 

But when he pulled away, everything came crashing down. Whatever connection was there, whatever hold Castiel over me was broken. I felt as though I’d been electrocuted, and jumped slightly away. Cas just smirked. 

“I think this is something you need to figure out on your own,” He leaned in again and kissed my cheek, while I sat in half-horror, half amazement.  
 _What in the fuck just happened?_  
“I’ll see you on Monday, Dean.”

*

After our first kiss, I went home and face-planted my bed. I’d already accepted the fact that I found the guy attractive, but a kiss…a kiss was the furthest my sporadic attraction to the male gender had ever gone. It had become physical, and it freaked me out. Because that made it real.  
 _But if I didn’t want it…If I didn’t like it, I would have pushed him away._

After a weekend of pacing around the house and snapping at Sam, I decided to just go with it.  
 _New state, new slate, right? What more can I do? If I went around ignoring the fact it happened, I'd upset Cas and everyone else in the process. He'd just see right through me anyhow. Get over it, Dean, man the fuck up._

*

The weeks in between the kiss at the diner and this day were, for want of a better word...insane. They were filled with parties and cigarettes and stolen kisses behind Brad’s refrigerator, which was, for reasons unknown, more or less in the centre of the kitchen. I told Cas that I didn’t want the group to know about us – not yet. It wasn’t because I was ashamed, or scared (or maybe I was, and didn’t want to admit it)…more so because I wasn’t quite sure what it was that was happening to me. I couldn’t understand, no matter how hard I tried, how it came to be that I could change into an entirely different person within a matter of weeks.  
 _Is this me? Is this who I’ve always been?_  
But I didn’t need to tell him that part.  
He already knew.

My father had come home, and left again, leaving behind the same orders, and a crate of cornflakes. Sam was missing the time we’d usually spend together, and was beginning to detest having to spend more time than necessary with his friends. If you ever wanted to meet a hermit, my brother is, and always has been, the top dog.  
I felt bad, I did, but what could I do? I couldn’t take him with me, nor could I stay home – if I decided to stay home, they’d bring the party to me. Don’t get me wrong; I loved these parties, mostly because they weren’t really parties. It was a gathering of people who loved each other, listening to good music together and having a good time. But it wasn’t a good example for Sam. Not at all.  
Of course, my friends knew about my dad travelling and Sam spending so much time at his friends’ houses, but they understood my point of view. Although, they were desperate to meet the kid. I’ll never know why.

“Come on, Dean, let’s meet the kid!” Jo would say, always enthusiastic.  
“I don’t think he’s your type, Jo….” I’d wink and we’d laugh and change the subject.

But today wasn’t that kind of day.  
“We’re meeting your brother today.” Jo stated, plonking herself down on the bleachers beside me.  
“Is that so?”  
“Yes, we’re all going to meet him after school, and if you don’t take us, we’ll just stalk you until you eventually go home and barge right on in-“  
“Alright, alright!” I laughed at their enthusiasm about my dork of a little brother. “You can meet him.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t want them to meet him – I did. And it wasn’t like Sam embarrassed me or anything. It was just…He was my brother. My little brother, who I spent far too much time with. But in a way, he was almost like a son, too, with how I had to practically raise him. It was always up to me to look out for Sam. The last thing I wanted to do was introduce him to a bunch of people that may scare him, or who weren’t worth it.

My friends in Long Island never met my brother.

However, Cas must have told them all of this, because they all seemed to know how I felt. Of course, I never told Cas anything, because he just seemed to figure it out by himself. I’d come to the conclusion that he was psychic after having known him for only two weeks.

The sun was setting when we got to the house – I’d instructed Sam to walk home from school, as it wasn’t very far, and that I’d have a surprise for him when he got home. For reasons also unknown to me, Sam was very eager to meet my friends too.  
“Sam?”  
“Huh?!”  
“Come downstairs a minute.”

“If this surprise is something lame like a Clint Eastwood movie, I’m gonna kill you.” He trudged down the stairs, and I still remember so clearly how his eyes lit up when he saw my friends smiling up at him from the front door.  
“How adorable is he?!” Jo whispered to Cas, who stepped forward and held out his hand.  
“Hey, Sam!” His smile was wide. And true. It was very, very true. “I’m Cas. It’s an honour to finally meet you.”  
 _Honour._  
To this day, I haven’t seen Sam smile as wide as he did at that moment.

Sam got along with the group remarkably well. He loved James Taylor, and as it turned out, so did Chuck and Brad, so he spent the majority of the night talking excitedly about his music, while the rest of us devoured pizza and root beer.  
“Your brother is a gem, Dean,” Cas said through a mouthful of pizza. “You’re right to be so proud of him. He’s a truly wonderful boy.”  
I smiled. I couldn’t help it – because he was right. He really was a gem.  
“Who knows, he might even be our next recruit,” Jo winked, and then turned to Sam. “Whaddy’a think about that, huh, Sam? Join our little club?”  
“Yes! Yes!”

Everyone laughed; Ash even ruffled Sam’s floppy hair. And for the first time in a long, long time, I really felt okay. Like everything was going to turn out alright. I wasn’t worried about the next game or what the cheerleaders would think of my new haircut or if I had anything witty left to say in Spanish class. All that mattered was my friends and pizza and James Taylor and my brother.

At least, until my father unexpectedly walked through the front door. Then he mattered a little more than all of that.


	6. October 3rd 1996

**October 3rd 1996**

The next day, and the evening before, was painful. Literally.

My father had not been happy, not at all. He spent that entire evening – after, of course, screaming at my friends to get ‘out of his house’ - booming at me about them being a “lousy influence” on Sam.

“I thought you had normal friends, Dean!” He yelled, even though Sam was now asleep in bed. “Like your friends from Long Island! I thought you were popular!”  
“Is that what matters to you?” I blinked, fairly shocked by my fathers words.  
 _Is that really all he cares about? Popularity?_  
He sighed. “Dean-“  
“No, no, you’ve been talking all damn night, let me speak!” I stunned myself with the volume of my voice. I never, ever challenged my father. “Back home? That wasn’t me! I was just…It doesn’t matter, but when we came here, I found some real interesting people, who’re a hell of a lot smarter than me, and a hell of a lot better as people. They’re real, they don’t pretend, dad! They’re no one but themselves and I downright fucking admire that, because it’s something I need to fucking learn. Screw being popular, screw sports teams, screw everyone back home! This is where I’m at right now and this is where I’m staying. If you don’t like it, then fuck it, I could fucking care less.”

Needless to say, I received a hefty clout to the jaw. “That’s for swearing at me.” He added, before storming upstairs.  
He didn’t look at me for the rest of the night, and I was thankful for that. He was leaving again the next day, which meant I didn’t have to worry about him. At least, not for another week or two, anyway.

 

*

 

I spent the entirety of the following day dodging interrogation from my friends, Sam and teachers alike, regarding my bruised face. Avoiding such questions was an art I had mastered in middle school; when all I ever managed to do was get into fights at the arcade.  
 _The joys of being popular._

But when Cas looked at me, I knew that he knew. His eyes were soft, his features sympathetic. He never questioned me. He simply put a tender hand to my jaw and shook his head.  
“You stood up for what’s right.” He whispered, before offering a small nod and turning to speak to Ash.  
 _How does he know? How does he know everything?_  
I made a mental note to interrogate him on his unrealistic abilities to know absolutely fucking everything.  
“Hey, Cas?” I asked, as he finished up his brief conversation about Ash’s missing cigarettes.  
“Hm?”  
“You free later?”  
“I’ll be at your place by six.” He winked, quickly kissing my cheek while all eyes were on Ash, as he loudly accused Chuck of stealing his cigarettes.  
“I know you have em’, man, who the _fuck_ else has em’!”

 

*

 

Six O’clock rolled around remarkably fast, what with homework, helping Sam with his, and going on our daily jog. I’d been encouraging Sam to get off his lazy ass all summer, and when school started, he finally agreed to go jogging after homework. Sure, we both hated it, but beauty is pain. Or exhaustion. Or whatever.

“Dean?” Cas called, walking through the door without knocking. If it were anyone else, I would have found that extremely annoying, but with Cas, it simply seemed endearing.  
“In the living room!” I called, shoving Sam’s nerdy comics under the coffee table.  
“No need to hide em’, I have em’ too,” He smiled, sitting down on the sofa. “I’m guessing you wanna talk?”  
“Lil’ bit,” I smiled, sitting down beside him. I was just about to speak when Sam cheekily popped his head around the doorframe. “Scram, you little shit! Go watch a movie upstairs!”  
“But Deaaan, the good ones are all down here!”  
“Sam, I swear to God-“  
“Don’t mind your bastard brother, Sam,” Cas got to his feet and strolled towards the half un-packed box of videotapes sitting beside the television. “I’ll help you pick out a good one. C’mere.”  
And there he sat, for a good ten minutes, sorting through various movies and recorded football games. Sam eventually settled on The Lost Boys, which he loved, because the ‘coolest’ guy had the same name as him- the ‘coolest’ guy being the annoying little brother, but whatever.  
 _Let him dream._

“He is such an annoying little asshole.” I muttered as soon as Sam had scampered upstairs.  
“You don’t mean that,” he smiled warmly. “You love him like a son.”  
I shrugged shyly. It wasn’t something I talked about very often.

“Anyway,” he sighed, patting my knee. “What’s up? Or is asking a stupid question?”  
“I just kinda wanna know how the hell you know absolutely everything…” I trailed off, realising what I was about to say sounded a little crazy. “Are you psychic?”  
He stared at me for a moment, and for a split second, I thought he just might be, in fact, psychic, and was debating on how to tell me. However, he burst out laughing seconds later, which shattered that idea.

“Jesus!” he exclaimed, still laughing. “Jesus, no! I’m just observant!” His laugh was beautiful. He threw his head back like a child, and then lunged forward, doubling over and holding his stomach. It sounded a little like music. It sounded…Happy.  
He finally settled, and turned to look at me. Really look at me.

“Dean…I see things. I notice things that other people pass off. I study people. I just do, I always have, and I guess I just put the pieces together like a jigsaw puzzle. Not everyone is easy to read, and I’m not saying I can read everyone…”  
“But you can read me.” I concluded, slightly offended that I was ‘easy to read’.  
“No. I can just see you,” he smiled at my puzzled expression. “Let me elaborate. I see how you love your brother, and I see how much you look up to your father, even though he isn’t the best role model. I see how confused you are, going from one extreme to the other on the social scale, and how you don’t know what’s going on around you, or why you feel the way you do about me. I get it, Dean, I do, and no one’s pressuring you to have all the answers. Just go with it. That’s the best advice I can give to you. Just go with it, and do what feels right.”

That was the moment I realized I loved Castiel Novak. It was 6.17PM on a Thursday evening, and I loved him. I really loved him.

Before I knew what was happening, Cas was straddling my hips and we were connected again. I felt lightheaded, like his lips were the only thing keeping me conscious. I was so lost in him, that I didn’t hear the living room door swing open. I didn’t hear the yelling. I wasn’t aware of any of it – not until Cas was pulled from my arms and thrown into the coffee table.  
I was very, very much aware of the commotion then.


End file.
